


For Ever Endeavour

by Verecunda



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, Age of Sail - Fandom, Historical RPF
Genre: Gen, NaNoWriMo, Slice of Life, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a most Irreverent Account of Captain Cook's first great Voyage to the South Seas with Mr Joseph Banks, F.R.S. (& co.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. HMB Endeavour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoc_voluerunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoc_voluerunt/gifts), [magicmattie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=magicmattie).



> Dedicated to my two lovely shipmates in our little _Endeavour_ fandom. This is intended to be a collection of headcanons inspired by our various chats, speculations, and RP endeavours (ohoho). Said headcanons will probably range from the silly to the angsty, and all the stages in between. If you are looking for a perceptive, historically accurate account of Cook's first voyage... er... this is most definitely not it!
> 
> My full and frank apologies to the sailors and gentlemen of HMB _Endeavour_ , who are probably birling in their graves.
> 
> -
> 
> Chapter summary: Joseph Banks sets eyes on his chartered ship for the first time. It is not love at first sight.

“Where the devil _are_ they?” 

Joseph Banks’ irritation reached a fever-pitch as he craned over the heads of the crowd thronging Plymouth Dock. The usual waterfront company: gangs of rowdy blue-jacketed sailors, loudly revelling in their rare stint of liberty; robust young strumpets who called and winked, ill-fitting bodices displaying their dubious charms in full; naval officers, splendid in deep blue uniform, some with rather more genteel ladies on their arms, nimbly skirting the churned mess of mud and offal in the roads; a frankly dizzying array of rustic chandlers, shopkeepers, and peddlers, who stood staunch in their doorways, or at their stalls and carts, all vying to be heard in a bid to part the sailors from their hard-earned silver. One poor black-coated parson made a quite valiant stand in the middle of the street, and managed perhaps the first few paragraphs of a high-pitched sermon on the sins of the flesh, before a group of ragged urchins beat him from the field with some impressively aimed horse droppings, and he was lost to sight, swept along by the sheer torrent of humanity that pressed and fought and jostled its way from one end of the dock to the other. 

The same torrent had shouldered Joseph and his party to the very edge of the dock - that, or be swept away like the parson - where they now stood, amongst the divers bales and crates and leaguers that stood waiting to be loaded into the bumboats that crowded the quayside, looking like so much abandoned luggage themselves. Plymouth was an assault on the senses: the air thick with salt and rotting kelp, filth and smoke, cookfires, and everywhere, everywhere the reek of tar; noisy with the bawling in a hundred languages as the trade of the world came and went, the shopkeepers’ cries, the shouts and curses that passed between the boats and their companions on the dock, the gulls screaming as they circled above it all. Under normal circumstances, this was exactly the sort of living tableau that would thrill Joseph’s senses, but today, the noise and swarming indifference of the crowd had him bristling, jangling at nerves already stretched to breaking point. Even more so when he realised that, no matter how hard he looked, he could pick out not one familiar face from the crowd.

“Damn it all!” he burst out, starting to pace for maybe the fourth time, clutching the letter from the ship’s commander in his hand like a talisman. He strode to the end of the quay, spotted a new boat draw up alongside the steps, and his heart leapt... until he scanned the faces of the passengers, and saw no one he recognised in that one, either.

An unseasonably chilly wind blasted across the Sound, plucking at his coat, and he pulled his hat down more securely on his head, shivering - _shivering_ , in high summer! Though it was the midst of August, the sky was lead-grey, ugly dark clouds roiling heavily just above the chimney-tops, so low that it seemed that all that was needed was one well-placed church spire to burst them and bring the threatened downpour upon their heads. Out in the Sound, the ships were stripped down to their bare poles, looking drab and naked in consequence, and those that rode at anchor wallowed in a sullen sea.

It was not at all the scene he had envisioned for his departure from England.

He returned to the others, who looked disconsolate to a man. Surprisingly, it was Mr Parkinson who first dared speak up: “Still no sign, Mr Banks?”

Joseph shot him a particularly black glare, which caused the poor young man to blanch and huddle into his coat, and made Joseph feel instantly guilty. He drew a breath. “No, Sydney,” he said - gently, he hoped - “not yet.” He cast a glance over their faces: Solander and Spöring both mumchance, Parkinson looking for all the world as if he were on the verge of tears, Buchan glowering down at the cobbles between his feet. It occurred to him that he should perhaps try to make light of their situation, and forced out a laugh. “Sailors, am I right?”

Solander, who had up until this point been content to let him pace and mutter about the strongly-worded letter he intended to write to the Admiralty, shifted the portmanteau he carried under his arm, made a vague gesture to the teeming dock and asked mildly, “Cannot we ask someone here? One of these boats must know it; they could take us out...”

Joseph scoffed. “That is not the point,” he retorted - how dare Daniel be so phlegmatic just now! - “Someone should have been here to meet us. The letter said so! I should have thought Peter, at least, would have been sent...”

Oh, he was working himself up into a fine state of indignation now! How typical of the navy. First their lordships of the Admiralty, in their wisdom, had thrown over Mr Dalrymple for command of the voyage so they could give preferment to some old naval salt of their own choosing - not even a gentleman, if what he’d heard was true! Now that same ungentlemanly old salt left Joseph and his retinue to rot by the quayside. God only knew what the sailors were about - getting drunk and enjoying their last debauch with the dockside strumpets, he made no doubt. So this was how it was to be. The tars would settle their own affairs, and the experimental gentlemen could go hang. He supposed he should only have expected such clannishness, but the insult still stung, all the same. Weeks of negotiations and petitions and arguments and preparations... and for what? To end up stranded on dry land, probably within sight of the very ship he had chartered!

“God’s wounds, I shall go mad!” It exploded from him, making Spöring and Parkinson jump, and even starting Buchan out of his study. “At this rate, it will be the press-gang who picks us up instead!”

That sparked a few anxious looks, but Solander just smiled. “Why all this urgency, Joseph? I very much doubt that Miss Blosset is going to come haring down to Plymouth in pursuit of you now.”

Joseph winced. “Daniel, I beg you, do not even joke about it.” His eyes chanced to meet Mr Parkinson’s, he caught the faint, disapproving frown on the other’s face, and looked quickly away.

He was still smarting from that unpleasant night at the opera, and truth be told, he still had no clear recollection of it. What’s more, he still felt quite crapulous: even now his head echoed with the ache he had woken up with on the coach. He had a vague remembrance of a high-pitched shrieking, though whether that had been Harriet, her mother, or the soprano, he was at a sad loss to say. What had seemed clear at the time, was that the best thing to do would be to take his leave as soon as possible and get down to Plymouth post-haste. He had even begged Sophie to drive him down, she being quite maniacal with a four-in-hand, but she had just laughed at him. Not that it would have made any difference to their present situation.

“Mr Banks?” At the sound of his name, Joseph started, and turned to see a hearty young fellow about his own age, dressed in a naval coat of some sort - he had no clear idea of rank - who approached them with a brisk, bounding step. Close to, he plucked off his hat to Joseph. “Clerke, sir. Charles Clerke, master’s mate in the _Endeavour_.”

“Joseph Banks,” he replied, though the introduction was apparently unnecessary. “And my retinue: Dr Solander, my secretary Mr Spöring, and Messrs Parkinson and Buchan, my draughtsmen.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintances at long last, gentlemen,” said Mr Clerke warmly, shaking their hands in turn. Returning to Joseph, he said, more formally, “Captain Cook’s compliments, sir, and he sends to inform you that your berth is ready aboard the _Endeavour_ , so you may embark at your convenience.”

After the agony of the wait, Mr Clerke’s amiable manner was a relief, but Joseph determined not to be disarmed by it. After all, every jack tar in the world was of the same cheerful disposition. It did not excuse the slackness, the gross effrontery of it all, and he resolved to assert himself. He would show that he was not some fool landlubber to be practised upon by any sailor. So, drawing himself up, he met Mr Clerke’s eyes very directly, and launched into his carefully prepared tirade: “Now, see, sir, I was promised - _promised_ , mind you - that one of my people would be awaiting my arrival here on the quay, and I did not travel all the way down from London just to -”

But Charles Clerke did not even bat an eye. “Oh, yes, sir, and the captain does extend his apologies for the wait! To tell truth,” he added confidentially, “we’ve been in a right hellish taking the last couple of days. We all of a sudden had orders to increase the ship’s company, and just today we’ve had on board a new complement of marines, and more water-casks and bread-bags than we know what to do with. And the joiners from the yard who were to help with setting up the cabins for you gentlemen have been all ahoo - well, that’s only to be expected when you’re dealing with the yard. But your servants are on board safe and sound, sir, along with your dunnage, and we rather pressed them into helping us with our stowing of the hold.”

“Wait, you mean -” Joseph exchanged an appalled glance with Solander - “our cabins are not even finished?” 

Was “your berth is ready” some obscure nautical cant for “we have cleared a space in the fo’c’sle where you can sleep with the common sailors”?

Clerke laughed. “Oh no, sir, never worry about that! Soon as the captain learned what they were about, he came down - hardly even said a word, just gave him his _look_ \- and they cracked on as if he’d rammed his boot up their arses - oh! beg pardon, sir.”

“Never worry about it, Mr Clerke,” said Joseph with a laugh of his own, suddenly in much better spirits. “I daresay if we are to spend two years in the constant company of sailors, we must all learn to get used to your - well, shall we say - your parlance!” He liked Mr Clerke already, and it seemed to him that if all the sailors of the _Endeavour_ were as agreeable as him, this should be a fine voyage after all.

“Well,” he said decisively, “I see no point in dilly-dallying here like a lot of old fishwives, so what say you we embark now?” This he said generally, turning to his companions, who all responded with gratifying eagerness. He spun on his heel and smiled widely at Clerke. “We should be delighted to come aboard. Lead on, my good man!”

They were ushered along the quay and down a flight of weed-slippery steps to where the _Endeavour_ ’s longboat waited. The sailors leaned on their oars, but they jumped to when they saw Clerke returning with Joseph and the gentlemen in tow, and when they helped load their last pieces of luggage into the boat, their efforts were so efficient and obliging that Joseph quite recanted his previous condemnation of naval conspiracy. So high were his spirits, in fact, that when the time came for him to embark, he did not wait for Clerke’s offer of assistance, but leapt into the boat, delighting in its jaunty movement in the water. The others joined him rather more gingerly, all of them accepting Clerke’s hand - all save Buchan, who shrugged him off with a mutter, and lurched aboard by himself. Presently all was ready, all were seated, and as Clerke settled in the sternsheets, he gave an order, the oars sliced into the water, and the boat slipped away from the quayside, pulling smoothly into the wide expanse of Plymouth Sound.

The effect was like a charm. At once, it was as if all the cares and concerns that dogged a man on land were simply severed, leaving him free, unfettered, and wholly his own self. The unpleasantness with Harriet, the tedious formalities of settling his affairs, the irksome confusion and delay at the dockside... they were quite forgotten in a heartbeat, and there was nothing in the world but the sea and the sky and the ships, and the horizon stretching away into the beyond. A gull wheeled above them, crying triumphantly, then suddenly made a sharp dive to snatch something - some small fish or invertebrate - from the surface of the water and shot up again. Joseph was transfixed by the flawless V of its dive and rise, the razor-sharp precision of its attack, the purity of its form in flight, and for an instant that humble gull was the most perfect thing in nature. He said as much to Solander, twisting round in his seat to smile widely at him, at Spöring and the draughtsmen, at Clerke, and at any sailor who happened to meet his eye. He could not bring himself to sit still, turning this way and that, craning about with a new fascination at the activity all around him. The longboat pulled further out into the Sound, weaving through the dozens of small craft that passed between the ships and the shore, in a pattern that reminded Joseph of nothing so much as bees coming to and from their hive. As they reached the deeper water where the ships were anchored, he could hardly keep his seat, anxious for his first sight of the ship that was to carry him to the far side of the world.

If a bird was perfection fashioned by nature, then a ship was perfection fashioned by man: from the towering majesty of the ships of the line, to the neat beauty of the frigates. Even without their billowing sails, their masts soared towards the grey sky in defiance of the threatening squall, their hulls gracefully curving, their fine, tapering prows fronted in many cases by imposing figureheads. Such noble symbols of England’s mastery of the seas; one could not look at them and fail to be moved.

“We are just about coming on her now, Mr Banks,” said Mr Clerke.

At this, Joseph could no longer contain himself. He leapt to his feet, setting the boat bucking beneath them, and very nearly sending Parkinson and Spöring into the deep. He was aware of the sailors cursing as they fought to right themselves, and a little water slopped over the sides, but there was no chance for apologies, or even regret, for at that moment Joseph was presented with a singularly breathtaking sight: an elegant frigate, arrestingly painted in bands of black and white, her wide yards crossed, with a row of gun-ports that had a deadly beauty all its own. He could see the figures of seaman and officers alike, walking the deck, or climbing in the rigging.

“Oh, how glorious!” he cried, grasping Solander’s shoulder and shaking it hard. “Doctor - _Daniel_ \- just look at her!”

“Oh no, sir, that’s not her,” said Clerke, chuckling. “She is the _Swiftsure_ \- lovely, ain’t she, but she’s not for us. We shall see our lady in just a second...”

Sure enough, the boat passed on, and the frigate’s prow fell away to reveal their true destination anchored just a little beyond. And Joseph’s heart, which had been in his mouth, dropped like a stone. For there, like a squat little toad that had crept into the midst of a flock of swans, lumbered a small, bulky vessel. She was more like a coastal trader than any naval ship, a squarish box with a few masts attached. No graceful curves or tapering prows for her: no fresh coat of paint could hope to beautify her slab sides or flat bows. No gun-ports, either. Even her masts looked stunted against the great spars of the warships all around her. 

She was a tub.

Yet there could be no mistaking but she was their destination, for although there was plenty of traffic in the water, the sheer number of boats crowding the little vessel, the countless casks and sacks being hauled aboard her by any number of whips and tackles, the crowding of men on her upper deck, the shouts and rhythm of activity aboard her, all gave her away as a ship preparing to make sail.

“ _That?_ ” It came out as a squawk. “That homely little coal-ship?”

Clerke only laughed, as if he had made some hilarious joke. “That homely little coal-ship, Mr Banks,” he said, with an air of pointed pride, “is His Britannic Majesty’s Bark _Endeavour_.”

Joseph struggled for words. “But it... it...” In all his imaginings of his Grand Tour around the globe, he had never, not once, not even in his most morbid visions of shipwreck and scurvy, imagined himself sailing in something like _that_. But he could see how Clerke beamed at the sight of her, and finally, all he could bring himself to say was, “But she is surely never a naval vessel?”

“Sweetest little cat as ever sailed out of Whitby, sir,” said Clerke fondly. “Until the Admiralty bought her over.”

“Cat?” Joseph echoed stupidly. He looked at Solander, but Solander looked as blank as he. All of them looked blank. “I thought you said she was a bark.”

“Cat-built bark,” said Clerke, as if that was that any sort of explanation. “Oh, don’t worry yourself, Mr Banks,” he went on, rather misconstruing the source of Joseph’s disappointment, “she don’t look her best right now, it’s true, with stores all over the deck like an Indiaman, but they will be gone by the end of the day. We shan’t disgrace ourselves when we set sail, you may depend upon it. She is a King’s ship now, and the captain is dead-set that she should be run man o’ war fashion. Best of both worlds, he says: the pluck of a cat and the discipline of His Majesty’s Navy, and we can do anything!”

Despite his crushing disappointment, Joseph was intrigued. There was something in Clerke’s voice when he spoke of his captain - though he was sure that the letter he had received had been signed by _Lieutenant_ Cook - that put Joseph in mind of how a natural philosopher might speak of Linnaeus.

“Is Mr Cook a very skilled seaman, then?” Surely a man would have to be prodigiously skilled to brave the open ocean in a thing like that. That, or stark raving mad.

“I doubt there’s a more thorough seaman in the service,” Clerke replied, his face fairly shining with reverence. “I saw seamanship in the old _Dolphin_ , let me tell you, Mr Banks, but this man, when he talks... well, you shall see for yourselves. And he’s sailed the Whitby colliers, man and boy, before he ever set foot on a naval ship. He and the _Endeavour_ , they go together hand-in-glove.”

“Well!” exclaimed Joseph, brightening. Nature had gifted him with a remarkable optimism of spirit, and a capacity to both enthuse and be enthused by the fervour of those around him. And in light of such an unqualified recommendation of the captain’s - _lieutenant’s?_ \- virtues from Mr Clerke, he could feel his excitement returning. He even began to think he could forgive the _Endeavour_ for being so small and unimpressive.

“Do you hear that, gentlemen?” he said, turning to address them as one. “We have a jolly tar for a skipper!”

“Well,” said Clerke, “he is definitely a tar...”

This remark struck Joseph as cryptic, but was forgotten at once as the longboat muscled her way through the press of small craft, and they were swept up in the _Endeavour_ ’s irresistible atmosphere of preparation. Although his disappointment upon first seeing the little bark - cat - whatever she was - had been acute, it was impossible to remain disappointed as they drew nearer, watching the constant hauling and loading, the movement of the men on her upper deck, listening to their voices as they shouted to each other, to the folk in the bumboats, to their mates in the longboat as they came within hail, the noise punctuated with every colourful oath that the nautical vocabulary could concoct. How could anyone be disappointed in the midst of such living energy?

Oh, to be sure, the _Endeavour_ was nothing much to look at next to the frigates and the line-of-battle ships, but did that not just make her more unique? And, after all, he had sailed in a frigate before. To voyage to the very ends of the earth in a humble north country collier... well, that sounded like an adventure all of itself! In fact, there was a sort of poetic, David-verus-Goliath appeal in such a notion. He and his suite of philosophical gentlemen, thrown together with a crew of doughty British seamen to brave whatever wonders and dangers this voyage might throw at them. What had in the first instant seemed a disappointment now presented itself as an unparalleled opportunity! Joseph itched to jump up again and - well, he knew not what, but _do_ something, something to make himself a part of this glorious hive of activity - and it was only Solander’s hand clutching his coat that kept him in his seat as the longboat came bumping against the _Endeavour_ ’s side.

At once they were greeted by a furious, American-voiced roar of, “Mind the paintwork, God damn you, Charlie!”

“Mr Gore, the second lieutenant,” said Clerke, by way of explanation, then hailed the deck: “Mr Banks and the gentlemen to come aboard, sir!”

This was it. The waiting was over, and now all there was left to do was to climb up onto the ship - the ship that would be his home for the next two years of his life - and their voyage could begin. There was a wooden ladder set in the ship’s side, and Joseph did not wait for Clerke to give the word, but seized hold and raced eagerly up, nearly kicking Solander in the face as the doctor took his place after him. The _Endeavour_ was not high, and as she rolled to the far side, it served to propel him up to the entry port. He grasped hold of the rail and hauled himself onto the little quarterdeck, but had no time even to glance around before he came face-to-face with the most forbidding-looking man he had ever clapped eyes on in his life.


	2. An Officer and a Gentleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the gentlemen's first impression of the ship was unfavourable, you should see the captain's first impression of the gentlemen.

James Cook had had misgivings about the scientific complement of the _Endeavour_ ’s company from the first, since the moment that Palliser had taken him aside and told him, in a tone very like an apology, that ‘Mr Banks had expressed an interest in accompanying the voyage’. The name did not mean much to James, who did not move in scientific or fashionable circles, but he had heard it mentioned in connection with both: as an enthusiastic natural philosopher, and as an equally enthusiastic young man about town. It was not that James objected in principle to scientific gentlemen aboard his ship: that would be nonsensical on a scientific voyage, after all. And he liked what he had already seen of their astronomer Mr Green: a staid, decidedly middle-aged little man, who was nevertheless a consummate professional in his field. But the thought that his ship might be invaded by some flash young society cove had not been a pleasant one.

His misgivings had only deepened when he received the news that Mr Banks had paid ten thousand pounds out of his own pocket to berth and equip not only himself, but a whole personal retinue of natural philosophers and servants - eight of them in all. A flash young society cove with more coin than common sense, who seemed to think he was outfitting an expedition for his own personal convenience.

But there was nothing else for it. He had his orders, and Mr Banks was a crony of Lord Sandwich’s, so if James did not want to lose his commission before the wax on the seal had even cooled, he would just have to grit his teeth and endure. His one hope was that he might be proved wrong. Surely even a young fool with a fortune must think twice before throwing that kind of money around. Maybe he did understand the import of this expedition.

A knock on his cabin door brought him back to the here and now. “Enter.”

“Longboat is returning, sir,” said Mr Hicks, ducking into the cabin and saluting. “Mr Clerke and the gentlemen.”

The moment of truth was upon him at last. James set down his papers, put on his hat, and cast a wry look at his second lieutenant. “Well, then, we must not disappoint them, Mr Hicks.”

Hicks gave a grim smile of his own. “No, indeed, sir.”

James reached the quarterdeck with Hicks in tow, just as the longboat came alongside. And as he watched Mr Joseph Banks, Esq. swinging himself up on deck, blithely oblivious to the sideboys moving to help him, it seemed that all of his worst fears were realised. A gangling youth, familiar somehow, in a fashionable, clearly expensive claret-coloured coat and a silver-embroidered waistcoat, his hair powdered beneath his hat, casting about the deck with the air of a man embarking on a pleasure cruise, not a voyage of scientific discovery.

But long experience had taught James that there was nothing to be gained by taking so immediate a set against a man who was to share his berth for the next two years. In any ship, it was necessary for every man to get along with his neighbour, doubly so in a ship the size of the _Endeavour_. Whatever his private opinion of Mr Banks’ foppish clothes, ten thousand pounds, and demands for the voyage, he must at least be civil. And so, removing his hat, he came forward.

“Welcome to the _Endeavour_ , Mr Banks. Lieutenant Cook, commanding.”

The genial satisfaction on Mr Banks’ face paled for a instant, then returned in force, and he gave a mock salute. “Joseph Banks, natural philosopher, come aboard, sir! Why,” he exclaimed suddenly, “I know you! You were the fellow in Newfoundland who was doing the map-work for Palliser.”

Ah. Of course. Now James remembered where he had seen Joseph Banks before. Two years ago, in the great cabin of the _Niger_. He had a fleeting memory of going over his new charts with Palliser and Adams, when in had burst this young man, laden with what looked like a box of mosses, and prattling animatedly about a sulky porcupine. James’ feelings then had been mere annoyance at the presumptuousness of the interruption, but Palliser had been tolerant of the new arrival, and had introduced them both. But the young man clearly had no interest in hydrography, and James was certainly no naturalist, and so they had exchanged merely a brief how do you do, then James had left and never given Mr Joseph Banks another thought.

Fortune apparently had a taste for irony.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I remember.” A pause. He was not good at small talk, but this seemed to require a pleasantry of some kind. He decided on, “I’m glad to make your acquaintance again, Mr Banks.”

“By God, what a small world it is!” Banks exclaimed warmly, shaking him by the hand.

“Indeed,” agreed James.

“And you have gone up in the world, I see, since we last met! You were - what? - a master? And now here you are, a captain!”

“A lieutenant.”

“Ah.” The smile slid from Banks’ face, replaced momentarily by a look of puzzlement, but it was back within an instant. “Well, whatever the correct term is, this is a marvellous stroke of luck! Why, we are practically old friends already!”

God help him.

There was a danger that Banks might enthuse further, and the quarterdeck was not the best place for reminiscing on old times, especially not in the last mad dash to get the rest of the people and stores on board, so James quickly cut across him: “I regret, Mr Banks, that here is not the best place for us to renew our acquaintance. Perhaps once the rest of the gentlemen are embarked, we might -”

“The gentlemen - of course!” cried Banks, swinging round just as another impressive specimen of the Royal Society’s finest came up the side. He stumbled as he heaved himself through the entry port, and only kept his feet because Mr Gore took pity on him and caught him by the collar. He was a small, round man, and right now his face was coloured with a dark flush that seemed unnatural to it, his eyes bulging slightly. He staggered across the deck towards Banks, who threw a proprietorial arm around his shoulders and turned him towards James, smiling widely. 

“Permit me to name my particular friend, Dr Daniel Solander of the British Museum. Doctor, this is Lieutenant Cook, our gallant commander! Dr Solander is a disciple of the great Linnaeus,” he added proudly.

“Good for him,” James didn’t say, having no opinion on the great Linnaeus one way or the other. Instead he said, “You are very welcome, Doctor.”

“Oh, and here comes Spöring now!”

One by one they came aboard, and James was introduced to a succession of pasty-faced prodigies, not a one of them who looked as though he knew his larboard from his starboard. First came Mr Spöring, a rather gaunt young man who struggled up the ladder and placed his foot very gingerly on the _Endeavour_ ’s deck as if he did not trust it to remain solid beneath him. After him came the two draughtsmen. First Mr Buchan, a young man in a shabby brown coat and homespun stockings too loose for him, who came forward to meet him civilly enough, but who after Banks’ introduction instantly retreated to the rear of the group, his hat pulled down close over his eyes. Last of all came the waif-like Mr Parkinson, who came up white-faced through the entry port, propelled by Mr Clerke below him, and who required two hands to steady him on the deck before he could join Banks’ party, where he stood, looking round-eyed about the deck.

Once this astonishing cavalcade had reached its end - and it did not escape his notice that many of the ship’s company paused in their work to watch these curiosities come aboard, many not quite managing to hold back their smiles - James turned back to Joseph Banks.

“Well, sir, perhaps now you might wish to see the cabin? Mr Clerke will see to your dunnage whilst we go below.”

“I should be delighted,” said Banks. “Please, lead the way.”

“Mr Gore, Mr Gathrey, see that the hands get back to work. As soon as the after part of the hold is cleared, you may begin taking down the casks. Follow me, Mr Banks.”

Amidst the bosun’s enormous bellow of, “Get back to work, you bloody loafers! This ain’t Pall fucking Mall!” - which made Mr Parkinson leap nearly a foot in the air - James led the gentlemen down the after-hatchway, feeling very much as if he were leading a brood of none-too-bright ducklings. Despite his warning of, “Pray mind your heads as you go,” at least half of them still managed to crack their skulls against the low beam. At least they knew how to curse as well as the hands, James thought wryly, listening to Mr Buchan and Mr Spöring muttering as they cherished their new bruises.

At the foot of the companionway, James accosted a midshipman who was coming up from the lower deck. 

“Mr Monkhouse, are you employed at present?”

“No, sir. I was just coming up to ask Mr Hicks if he needed my help with the stores.”

“Then instead of that, you can spare a few minutes to show the gentlemen here their cabins.”

Monkhouse’s gaze drifted over to the gentlemen and he smiled widely, pleased by the perceived honour of the task. “Aye aye, sir.”

“Good. Carry on, Mr Monkhouse. Mr Banks, if you care to follow me, your cabin is aft with mine.”

“Aye aye, sir!” said Mr Banks, delighting in what he seemed to regard as a charmingly quaint expression. “Gentlemen, I will see you all later. Daniel, drop your things in your cabin and then come and join us.”

Leaving the rest of the gentlemen to the tender care of young Monkhouse, James led Banks right aft, passing through the lobby - as it had come to be called - into the great cabin. It could not compare to the spacious quarters enjoyed by captains of ships of the line, but considering the _Endeavour_ ’s size, it was a generous space, well-lit by the stern-windows, who caught what light there was to be had from the overcast sky outside, and smelled poignantly fresh from the carpenters’ recent efforts, the air sharp with new paint and the spice of raw-cut wood.

“The great cabin has been divided between us, Mr Banks,” he said, nodding to the door to starboard. “Your sleeping cabin is through there. My own is here on the larboard side.”

Most of the gentlemen’s scientific equipment had come ahead of them, and what had been judged to have immediate application had already been installed in the great cabin: their books, nets, paintboxes, specimen boxes, preserving jars, Mr Banks’ bureau, and other innumerable odds and ends. Two other installations were dozing on a mat by the stern-lockers, but when the door opened they lifted their heads as one, and when they caught sight of Mr Banks they set up an almighty barking and rushed over to him, nearly bowling James off his feet. Banks gave a laugh of sheer delight and fell to his knees, catching a greyhound under each arm as they sniffed and circled and nuzzled, beating their long tails madly in an ecstasy of joy at their reunion with their master.

“Aaah, yes, yes - I missed you, too, Lady darling,” he chuckled, scratching the bitch under her ears as she licked his face, and her male companion, not to be outdone, stuck his nose under Banks’ arm and flipped it up, the better to insinuate himself into his master’s arms. “Yes, Rex, I see you - ah, Lady, careful!”

James took out his watch.

Presently, Banks concluded his communion with his dogs, shooed them back to their mat, and clambered back to his feet, his face bright. “I do apologise, sir, I have so missed the two of them. I trust they have behaved themselves?”

James thought about the ungodly howling that Lady had set up all through her first night on board, which had already led to the midshipmen telling stories about ghosts in the bowsprit netting; the incident when Rex took it upon himself to mark his territory against each mast; their rank persecution of the ship’s cat.

“Delightful creatures,” he said tightly. “Now, as I was saying, this is the great cabin, which will serve as office for both of us, and for all the gentlemen. There should be adequate room to accommodate us all whilst we work.”

“I should say so!” exclaimed Banks, wandering around the cabin with the pleased air of a satisfied buyer, examining everything, sticking his nose into every corner and cupboard, and exclaiming at everything he saw: “Oh, my books! Most kind of you, sir, very convenient.” - “Are these your charts, Lieutenant? They look quite terrifying!” - “Did you get this from Greenwich?” (this whilst lifting one of the new Gregorian telescopes and handling with a kind of reckless abandon that had James’ heart in his mouth) - “Oh, yes, this shall do very nicely. Ah, and did you say this was to be my cabin?”

With these words, Banks disappeared eagerly into the cabin, and James listened to him shuffling about for a minute or so, making the occasional sound of approbation as he noted some valued part of his dunnage that had been put in there, when there was a brief pause, and Banks re-emerged, looking faintly embarrassed.

“Ah - Mr Cook... is this the whole of the cabin?”

“Yes,” said James suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well, it is just... I do not wish to complain, you know, but is there no chance that this space could be enlarged at all?”

James had already braced himself for this complaint, and a whole slew of others, so it was with reasonable equanimity that he replied, “Not without you deprive Mr Spöring of a cabin.”

“Oh, perish the thought! But,” Banks frowned, “I had expected... well, even my cabin on the _Niger_ was bigger than this.”

“I’m sure it was, Mr Banks,” said James, as patiently as he could, “but the _Niger_ is a frigate, not a bark like us. We have more than ninety souls aboard the _Endeavour_ , and to fit them all in a ship just over a hundred feet long, and less than thirty in the beam, you will appreciate that we are all quite pressed for space.”

“Oh, naturally,” said Banks, with the supreme confidence of one who has no idea what his companion is talking about. “But I confess I had expected something like the _Niger_ for such a voyage as this. Was not the _Dolphin_ a frigate?”

“She is.”

“Yes, I thought so. It seemed a strange choice to me, that of all ships, the Admiralty should pick out an old collier like this for the expedition. Do not you think so, Lieutenant?”

It was probably not meant as an insult, but the ex-collier hand in James Cook raised his hackles. He was joined by the new-minted lieutenant, who bristled at the slight to his command. He pressed his lips together; his eyes narrowed. Joseph Banks went a little pale.

“I assure you, sir, the _Endeavour_ is perfectly suited to our voyage - more suited than even a sixth-rate like the _Dolphin_. A cat of this build is far more stable, and her draught is shallower, which will be better for us in uncharted waters. She was built for storage, so there is plenty of room in her hold to accommodate any collections you scientific gentlemen care to make. As for speed, she is no flyer, but she will get us to Otaheite well in time for the transit. She is probably the most suitable ship in the service.”

Having said his piece, he looked hard at Banks, daring him to make another fling about his ship. But the moment passed, and Banks recovered himself, the smile returning to his face.

“Well, you know far more about these things than I, I daresay,” he said, quite cheerfully. “I shall have to make a study! As for space... now that I think about it, it’s very apt. More personable this way. No good in our being strangers to each other. Yes. 

“ _Well_ ,” he went on, in an apparent bid to change the subject, “when do we sail, Lieutenant?”

“When we are ready, Mr Banks,” said James. “We are still completing our stores, and the wind is in the wrong quarter. We must wait for it to change before we can set sail.”

“Oh. And when will that be?”

“My hope is that, with a northwesterly wind and all our stores on board, we can set sail by Sunday.” He could not resist adding dryly, “That will give you a few days to get used to your new berth.”

“Capital!” said Mr Banks, ebullient once more. “If we are to sail together, it is only sensible that we should all get to know each other beforehand.”

“Just so, Mr Banks. And on that subject -” he drew a breath and forced himself to press on - “I would esteem it an honour if you and the rest of the scientific gentlemen would join my officers and I for dinner.”

“Certainly we will!” said Banks, with something almost like relief. “That is handsome of you, Mr Cook, most handsome. I should be happy to accept, and I am sure the gentlemen will be too. We will all be in attendance, you may depend upon it!” He gave a hearty laugh. “How splendid!”

James bowed his head. “Dinner will be at three, then, in this cabin. I look forward to having your company, Mr Banks. Now, you’ll forgive me, but there are things I must attend to on deck.”

“Of course, of course,” said Mr Banks. “Do not let me keep you from your duties. You needn't worry about us, Mr Cook, we can all fend for ourselves until dinnertime. Oh! And I can show you my electrical machine!”

“Electrical machine?”

“It is the most astonishing thing! The Royal Society were good enough to give me one to bring with us. You turn the handle, and the discs generate a charge - a spark, if you will - and if one puts his hand to it, he receives a shock. Most diverting - it will be the perfect conversation-starter for our dinner tonight!”

A dull throbbing began behind James’ temples, but somehow he was able to make himself say, “That sounds... singular, Mr Banks. I will see you at dinner.”

He had just reached the door, his hand barely touching the doorknob, when Banks’ voice came again: “Ah... Mr Cook?”

James stopped. “Yes, Mr Banks?”

“Could I possibly trouble you to send for my servants to help with the rest of my unpacking? Mr Clerke said they had been ‘pressed into service’ elsewhere on the ship.”

James fought back a groan. “I shall attend to it, sir.” 

Leaving Banks no opportunity to make any more requests, he was out of the cabin and the door was closed firmly behind him. He could hear the other gentlemen in their cabins forward, and met Dr Solander coming aft. He made James a rather nervous greeting before edging past him into the cabin, upon which James heard a very explosion of chatter erupt from Banks at his friend’s entry. James shook his head, and made his way forward to the companionway, just as the bell began to ring the end of the forenoon watch.

Well, the die was well and truly cast now. Joseph Banks had not been in the _Endeavour_ ’s great cabin half an hour, and already he seemed to take up about three quarters of it. He seemed to be a young man possessed of incorrigible high spirits, and it occurred to James that in these close confines, he would either come come to love him dearly for it, or end up throttling him in his sleep.

Right now, it was an even chance as to which of the two it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little historical blah:
> 
> As far as I know, there's no evidence that James Cook and Joseph Banks ever met each other before the _Endeavour_ voyage, but they were both in Newfoundland in 1766, and they had common acquaintances in naval officers like Hugh Palliser and Thomas Adams, so I reckon there's a good chance they might have crossed paths at some point then. Patrick O'Brian thinks so too, and that's good enough for me! (And Banks did indeed acquire a sulky porcupine on his Newfoundland trip!)
> 
> Also, many thanks to my dear [hoc_voluerunt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hoc_voluerunt) for helping me get a handle on the finer points of the _Endeavour_ 's layout! :)


End file.
